


I've Got a Nihilistic Attitude and You've Got Too Much Time On Your Hands

by soullesspacifrisk



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Chara is brainwashed, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Other, Possession AU, Self-Harm, Slow Build, Slow Romance, Unhealthy Relationships, frisk is a new personality in their body, im not apologizing for the writing but for the pain youll feel, this was vent shit tbh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-15 15:01:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5789926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soullesspacifrisk/pseuds/soullesspacifrisk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They have no memory of a Frisk. They have no memories at all, but they remember searing abdominal pain, buttercups. Buttercups, that’s the last thing they remember seeing, and god, it burned. They’re choking now, and it’s not an unfamiliar feeling. It’s so quiet, but why does everything sound like running water?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You took quite a fall there!

_The sound of wind lightly brushing through a field of flowers floats through the air._

_"...Chara."_

_"Hmm?"_

_"It was humans who attacked in the war, right? And you're a human, too. Maybe you were a warrior!"_

_Chara affectionately cuffs his head._

_"Dummy."_

_"If I were a warrior, I think you would be very dead, Asriel."_

 

"..."

"....."

"Oww."

They rub the sore spot on their head and sit up.

"Howdy, friend!"

They turn towards the unfamiliar voice, bewildered. This place, this patch of flowers, feels vaguely familiar to them, but almost nothing else does.

Unable to see anyone in the shadows, they decide to ask who's speaking, but instead of asking 'Who are you?', the question comes out, "Who am I?"

A slight gasp leaves their lips as they look down at themselves, realizing that it's true–they have no idea who they are.

The voice chuckles, and a cheery-looking flower comes into the light.

"Howdy! You took quite a fall there....Your name is Frisk. Remember me? I'm your best friend, Flowey."

The newly christened Frisk vaguely shakes their head. Their tongue and throat feel thick and it's difficult to talk.

"I don't...remember that."

Flowey chuckles merrily. "Gosh! I'll teach you the ways of this world, then."

Frisk nods slowly, their hands on the earth–a calming, grounding sensation. “You’re a monster, like all of us here in the underground, and here, we share love through friendliness pellets. Don’t you want love, Friskie?”

Friskie. That sounds…weird to them. Regardless, they nod again. “I suppose.”

“Okay, try to get as many pellets as you can!”

Frisk holds their hand out to catch the ‘friendliness pellets’, but when one hits the palm of their hand, it's a sudden stab of pain–like a knife digging through them. 

“Mmhh!!”

"You idiot. In this world, it's kill or be killed.” 

Frisk whimpers in pain and curls up. It's agony, and they want to run, but pain tangles their judgement. 

“DIE.”

The bullets surround them and slowly get closer and closer.

Suddenly, they vanish. Flowey is gone. 

“What a miserable creature, torturing such a poor, innocent youth.”

Their hands are bleeding, bleeding, bleeding, and they’re shaking in fear, afraid to open their eyes.

"Do not be afraid, my child."

The words, so distantly familiar, echo in Frisk's head. This is a friendly person and you can trust her, their mind murmurs, and, deciding to trust this voice, their eyes flutter open. They can only make out white fur and a flicker of flame.

As soon as the child opens their eyes, a flash of recognition stabs through Toriel's mind.

"Char...a...?"

But as soon as the words leave her mouth, she knows that Chara is no longer there, not fully. She doesn't know what Flowey did to them, but those glassy eyes and drawn expression show no signs of recognition.

They press a bloody hand to their forehead, as if plagued by sudden pain. Their voice slow and thick, they mumble quietly, "...Who's that? My...my name is...it's Frisk."

Toriel nods slowly. She ponders for a moment telling the child their real name, but, again, she tells herself that Flowey could have done anything to them. She doesn't want to overwhelm or hurt the child.

There's a little selfish part of her too, buried deep in her heart, that wants a fresh start. She wants to raise this 'Frisk', to see them through a happy and safe childhood.

Toriel pulls the roll of bandages from between the folds of her robe and gives a gentle smile.

"Hello, Frisk. Please don't worry. I will make sure you are safe from this point forward, alright?"

"...Okay."

They take little, dizzy steps forward, and gently, gingerly, Toriel begins to bandage their hands.

"I will protect you."


	2. dysfunctional

Their eyes shoot open. Their hands are constricted; not really constricted, but covered to help the bleeding stop. It felt gross. They want to rip the bandages off, rip them off and drag knifes down their arms for being so stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid…

It was bad, it was bad, and they’ve done it all wrong again. The voice comes in again, low and confused and maybe a little nervous. "It hasn't even started?"

It’s hard, when nobody will tell them what to do. 

"It's so hard," they groan into the night, "I'm so stupid I can't hear anything.”

Silence greets them, and it's good, because they don’t have to mishear anything. They can clutch the smooth blankets in their hands, and bury their face in them, and breathe it all away.

Breathing, such a mundane task, suddenly becomes a problem. They become painfully aware of how hard it is to breathe; it’s hitting them how afraid they should be. "FRISK. FRISK. FRISK. WHO THE HELL AM I?"

They have no memory of a Frisk. They have no memories at all, but they remember searing abdominal pain, buttercups. Buttercups, that’s the last thing they remember seeing, and god, it burned. They’re choking now, and it’s not an unfamiliar feeling. It’s so quiet, but why does everything sound like running water?

“Chara, I don’t like this idea anymore…We need to tell Mom and Dad.”

“Chara…”

“C-Chara…please…”

“Chara, stop making that creepy face…”

“Mommy…Daddy…I don’t feel anything.”

It hurts. Their head is pounding. Ouch, ouch, ouch. They rest their head on their legs, voices flooding into their head.

”Chara! You have to stay determined!”

“My child, please keep fighting!”

They rip the bandages off their hands, the dried blood covering their hands, cuts across the palm of their hands, cuts on their fingers, cuts going in the same direction. It hurt but God, did they love it. Nothing like a familiar feeling. 

A knock at the door, they attempt to compose themself, but tears fill their eyes and they hunch over, curling up while the tears start to flow.

It's quite obvious someone is waiting at the door, they can hear the floor cracking with every shift of their weight. Silence floods in, and everything feels somewhat empty again.

It doesn't last long. "Frisk..?"

"Yes?" The door creaks open, Frisk wipes their eyes and smiles sleepily, trying to make it out like they're not crying. 

"Oh, dear... Are you okay?" Her voice is so calm, and she sounds genuine. 

They nod, feeling a little better, normal almost. Normal is a relative term. "My stomach burns."

"Do you need anything for your stomach ache, my child?"

"It's not an ache, it burns," The reply bluntly. "but...what do you have...?

Toriel smiles warmly. "Tea, water, or milk?"

Frisk thinks for a moment, their fingers rubbing the sleeve to their shirt soaked in tears. They yawn and smile politely, "Could I have a glass of warm milk...?"


	3. Go Get The Flowers

_Chara dropped the basket on the ground, sitting in the patch of flowers._  
_The prince set the camera on the ground, grabbed his ears and tugged nervously. "Chara...What if the buttercups hurt you?"_  
_Chara rolled their eyes, he could be such a worry wart sometimes. "Duh, thats the point, enough to make me sick, and then you take my soul when mom and dad go to bed. _We go to the surface, take the souls we need and BAM! Barrier's broken."__  
_Asriel shook his head. "But, why do you n-need the buttercups...?"_  
_Chara groaned, tired of explaining something so simple. "Because it'll make me sick, and when you take my soul, mom and dad will think I died."_  
_"But-"_  
_"Asriel."_  
_"Right, sorry..."_  
_Chara scooped flowers into their hands and laid back, placing a single golden flower onto their tongue, the rest of the flowers scattered across their chest._  
_Asriel placed a handful of buttercups into the basket. "Chara...I don't like this idea. I d-don't want t-to lose y-you..." He was crying again, he's such a crybaby._  
_He's their crybaby though. "Come here Azzy."_  
_Asriel smiled through his tears, laying on top of the flowers. He hugged them, the scent of buttercups surrounding them, flowers breaking through their hair. Chara inhaled the scent, savoring the last peaceful moments they had._  


_____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________"...I love you, Asriel."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this was so short? I'll do more writing tonight, every other chapter i'll be explaining whats going on and why its like this idk im not the best writer??


	4. Where Are The Knives

Frisk opens their eyes. The room is so hot. They've been tossing and turning, covers twisted all over them. They groan, throwing off the covers.

_"Friskie."_

They shake their head; they didn’t hear anything. There’s a clock on the wall. The irritating ticking, second to second, is driving them mad. Frisk’s hand twitches nervously. 

_“Where are the knives?”_

They inhale sharply through aching lungs, silence filling the air like dread once again. On the table sitting a little too close to the bed lays a piece of pie on a napkin; next to it sits a small fork with intricate designs down the frail handle.

Frisk sits up, their feet hitting the cold, hard floor underneath them. It nighttime, four minutes to 2 AM, to be exact. They take a few steps forward, stumbling slightly when their bare feet rub against the rug. Frisk sits in the middle of the rug glancing around the room. They come across a bin with no covering, just a simple storage bin filled with children’s shoes. Scooting over to the bin on the ground, they pull out a shoe and try it on…

Too small.

They try another…too big.

After going through three pairs, they find one that fit perfectly, but the left’s counterpart had virtually fallen to pieces; the tongue had been ripped off halfway and the laces were cut. Who did these belong to?

Nonetheless, Frisk pulls out the laces of another pair and hook it through as carefully as possible. They walk into the hallway. The lights are off, golden flowers being the only life around. The wood on the floor beneath them is old and in need of sweeping. Dust lies on the stands holding the golden flowers.

They sneak into the kitchen. _”I think she keeps them in the drawer next to the stove.”_

Pulling the drawer open lies a few knifes with protective covering, that will come in handy. Frisk gathers three knives, one small and easily hidden, two large and definitely damage inflicting. They set them on the chair in the living room. 

" _we'll need a bag to put things in._ "

Sneaking back into their "room", they open the chester drawers, no luck, but a sweater hanging neatly brings a strange feeling, but that's not important right now. 

They’ll have to use their pockets, there’s nothing for them to use, they grab the knifes and shove them into their pockets, grateful for the coverings. Frisk glances down the hallway, not a single noise or sign of life.

They glance down a set of steep stairs, it’s dark, but it’s the only way out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had no inspiration whoops here u go


End file.
